Varan District

Nief Pavlischev strolled into the main marketplace. He had made his way to Isra after an encounter with some unfriendly pirates who'd stolen his maps and his gold and forced him to swim seven miles to the coast. Exhausted and wet, he'd found the Smoking Boar Tavern where he stole some dinner and a bedroll before making his way to the Varan District. He'd heard tell of a marketplace that sold unique weapons, and he was very interested on getting his hands on some. He wasn't sure how, seeing as he was fresh out of gold, but he could usually talk his way into a deal.

The market smelled of smoked meats and wine. As he glanced around at the vendors, he spotted someone selling cats. He wanted to go see them, but he was afraid he might cry remembering his previous kitten, Chungy. Making his way through the crowded streets, Nief heard a sharp "Psst!" from around a corner. He narrowed his eyes. He knew it couldn't be good, but he had a knack for getting himself into bad situations. His curiosity got the better of him, and he turned around to meet the mysterious voice.

Nief crossed his arms in mock defense. "Who's asking?" he said in his Russian accent. In reality, he was wondering if this man had read his mind, or if he really looked as broke as he was.

Nief smirked. "I'll give you a distraction, old man Dale," he started. Then as he loosened the cuffs on his coat, "But I don't need the money."

With that, Nief broke cover and sauntered into the square. He pretended to be interested in a stack of fine rugs, but his eyes never left the Varan merchant. He waited, sifting through the rugs and choosing one he liked, then putting it back and mumbling to himself. When there was a sizable crowd gathered around the merchant, Nief began his coup.

"What is your name, sir?" Nief asked of the merchant. Suspecting a possible buyer, the man smiled. "The name is Jovus, friend. Are you interested in any of my--"

"Fakes?" Nief finished for him.

"I...beg your pardon, sir--"

"These trinkets are certainly not made of REAL jewels, Jovus. Did you really think you could outsmart a famous trader's son? Tsk tsk..." Whirling around violently, Nief yelled out to the entire crowd, "This man must be arrested immediately! He thinks he can get away with selling worthless jewelry at outrageous prices? I think not! Let us serve justice to the people! Alert the authorities that you have been bamboozled by this gluttonous tyrant! I will not stand for it!"

As a horde of people closed in on the booth to see what the ruckus was, Nief ducked under the table and swiped a few rings and necklaces into his satchel. As Jovus was distracted by the angry mob, Nief also went ahead and snatched the purse off his belt.

Nief hid again behind some baskets. If he saw Dale creeping about, he would wink and dash into the nearest alley with his stolen goods.

Nief Pavlischev

Dale smirked when he saw the scene created by Nief. He began to chuckle and snicker so much that he began to cough, much to the disguist of the people around him.

Within a few moments Nief would find himself approached by Dale - as well as four large Varan men. "There, there's the thief!" The cunning trickster had fooled Nief! "I saw him clear with me own eyes! Stole goods and money from ol' Jovus there!"

The four Varan were equipped with mail armor and open-face helmets, wielding round shields and their personal choice of a melee weapon. They started to come forward, weapons and shields at the ready, cornering Nief. "Drop everything," one of them would say, "or face the consequences!"

---

Sierra Fairchild

Sierra would ultimately come upon a frail, old man chipping away at some wooden item. On the table were various wooden dolls, half of them dressed with the other half piled up bare. At the end of the table was a young girl applying clothes to the figures; when she was finished she stood them up so that the customers could see them better.

"Want a doll, miss?" asked the young, red-headed girl. "My pa made them himself, and I dressed'em myself!"

Sierre would find two bright, beautiful eyes set upon a clear face with a light complexion. Two red braids ran off either side of her head and down her shoulders. She was a cute girl, full of energy and happiness; one might wager she'd seen 8 winters. She seemed to enjoy her life, simple as it was.

Her father spoke up, "take a look, take a look," he encouraged Sierra Fairchild , "the wood was cut from Asgeir itself. Strong, sturdy, and long-lasting." Indeed the forests of the north produced fine lumber for the northmen, and Sierra would find these wooden models in excellent quality. Perhaps the only complaint one might have was the mismatched clothing the red-headed girl put on them...